


The Hate of Some Other Man's Beliefs

by Fallon_SF



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Dubious Consent, Healing, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, Manipulative Peter, pre-Sterek - Freeform, unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 09:27:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13499172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fallon_SF/pseuds/Fallon_SF
Summary: Jedi are the guardians of peace in the galaxy.Jedi use their powers to defend and to protect.Jedi respect all life, in any form.Jedi serve others rather than ruling over them, for the good of the galaxy.Jedi seek to improve themselves through knowledge and training.This what what they expected out of life upon entering the New Jedi Order. Instead, Scott loses his best friend. Derek loses one family member after another. And Stiles loses himself. Somehow they must come together to find healing.





	1. Scott

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is inspired by Hydrae's lovely art http://hydrae.tumblr.com/post/32187778887/i-accidentally-a-star-wars-au-it-started-with-a   
> It's taken me forever to write, but it's here. 
> 
> Fic title from "Foreigner's God" by Hozier

“Stiles! Stiles, wait up!”

The sound of children’s voices, breathless from exhaustion and laughter, accompanied by the pattering of feet was fairly common among the Jedi Academy grounds. Unlike the reclaimed Coruscanti Temple that sat across a grandiose courtyard, the Academy was typically filled with far more younglings than actual Jedi. As such, no one bat an eye at two boys tearing through the halls towards the building’s exterior.

The one in the lead laughed and turned his head to call after his friend.

“Come one Scott! You gotta be fast if you want to be a padaw – _Ack!”_

He went down in a flurry of fabric and gangly limbs, seemingly tripping on air. Luckily, when Scott scrambled to catch up, he was laughing. The darker skinned initiate smiled broadly, laughing when his friend dragged him down as well, using his hand rather than the force. The pair lay there, just laughing and playfully nudging each other for a short while before they broke apart to even out their breathing.

Finally, when they could hear the sounds of the courtyard and distant city over their own heartbeats, the boys began conversing again. Though this time, they practiced speaking in their minds and growing their Force Bond – as per their teachers’ suggestions.

“Are you nervous for the Trials?”

Scott didn’t have to turn his head to be able to gauge his friend’s reaction. It was…oddly calm. He thought Stiles would have been more anxious about it all. Technically, at ten years of age, neither of them were ideal candidates for apprenticeship. For them, the Trials would be more like an exam to see how far they’ve come in a year. Occasionally an Initiate would get picked up as a Padawan early though.

Stiles shrugged, both physically and mentally.

“Not really. Master Deat’on said it’d probably be another few years for either of us. I know I really wanted it last year, but I don’t think I’d be considered ready yet. Lydia might matriculate, though. She’s spent a lot more time studying than us.”

Scott tilted his head and let out a mental hum of acknowledgement. He could still dream of nothing more than finally being allowed to take his learning out into the real world. He wondered if it was the difference between being raised in the temple and coming from off world. His own mother was one of the Force-Sensitive stationed in the Hall of Healing, so the peaceful temple and the raucous city beyond it were all he knew.

Stiles, however, had been brought in as a child. He’d spent his first four years running wild and free on Naboo; coming to the temple around the time he would have entered formal schooling back home anyway. He claimed not to remember much concrete about his homeworld, but he was always willing to share his many impressions of the place if Scott asked. Other times, such as now, the pale human boy didn’t even need a prompt to share the feelings and sensory fragments.

Scott smiled as the courtyard around them was replaced with the feeling of lying in a field, swaying grass as far as the eye could see. Any further discussion was tabled in favor of relishing the memory and the feel of the sunlight hitting their skin.

A few hours later, the pair awoke to the towering silhouettes of the Hale siblings in the slowly sinking sun. Scott disentangled himself from Stiles’ octopus-like grip and rubbed his eyes sheepishly. The Hales were both Padawans of their uncle, Peter, though Laura was several years older than Derek. She also had a significantly bigger personality, while Derek was the embodiment of stoic (“more like broody” Stiles liked to joke).

“Come on,” She said, clearly suppressing a smile and offering him a hand up. “It’s nearly time for the Trials to start.”

Scott grinned back and accepted the help. Meanwhile, Derek roughly hauled up a still-groggy Stiles by his arm, earning a loud squawk and an accidental slap to the face. The padawan rolled his eyes while Stiles attempted to right his clothes and Laura laughed. Scott spent most of the trip back to the temple thinking maybe life here wasn’t so bad after all.

▉ ▉ ▉

Three years later when both Initiates passed their trials, Scott found it hardly surprising that Laura was the one to claim Stiles as her first padawan while he found himself standing at Master Deat’on’s side. He stood before the council proudly while they blessed the two apprenticeships. To his left, Stiles and Laura beamed, the elder keeping a firm, companionable arm around her apprentice’s shoulders - calm even in the light of her uncle's disappearance and more recently presumed death. When they exited the Council Chambers and found their friends and family waiting for them, both boys received a forehead kiss and message of how Melissa was “so proud” of them. Derek, in true Derek fashion, just rolled his eyes at their celebratory antics. Scott thought he seemed a little more fond than usual, however.

Everything after that became a rush of preparatory training, packing to move out of the dormitories (or more aptly nicknamed “decluttering”) and the off-world missions Scott so longed to go on. It was new and exhausting, especially after a life of classroom learning and meditation, but he relished the experience and the chance to help others – even if he mostly shadowed Deat’on on diplomatic missions.

And then, suddenly, it all came to a halt as he, and probably half of the other Jedi staying at the Temple were thrown awake in the middle of the night by a long, tortuous howl ripping through the normally peaceful atmosphere.

It wasn’t hard to find Derek, on his knees, nearly fully shifted to his race’s naturally wolfen form, eyes burning blue with a grief so strong it might as well have been tangible.

The next morning was a flurry of activity as the Jedi tried to make contact with the envoy Laura and Stiles had been sent on to Geonosis. The mission was supposed to have been mainly facilitated by the Explorer Corps, with the Jedi pair only there in case they found anything unfriendly lurking around.

Two days later, a reconnaissance team from Naboo confirmed the ship had been attacked and there appeared to be no survivors. Most of the bodies were too mangled to even _try_ to identify. Scott joined Derek in mourning, even as his training under Deaton continued.

 

▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉

 

“Scott! Scott! Have you listened to a word I’ve just said?”

Sometimes Scott liked to believe that Derek would probably growl at him even if it wasn’t a built-in part of his Lycan physiology. Right now, for instance, he looked about as frustrated as a Jedi knight was allowed to be. Then again, Derek always seemed to have what his sister would have called a “resting murder face.” It was helpful in situations where they needed to present an intimidating picture. Right now, however, it kind of made Scott want to reach out and physically smooth out his eyebrows.

He let out a sigh and turned to face his fellow knight.

“Yes Derek, I’ve been listening. I think the council will be alright with waiting until I’ve actually cleaned up the practice room before we go meet them, though.”

If at all possible, the wolf-shifter’s eyebrows knit even further together. But thankfully, he let the subject drop with a grunt and began helping Scott in the effort of re-organizing the training room. It wasn’t required to help with the younglings while in Coruscant, but it gave them a different experience and gave the teachers a bit of a break. Besides, Scott liked to help out, liked the reminder of how far he’d come in the past ten years.

The Council was, in fact, totally amenable with waiting an extra ten minutes to speak with the two Jedi. Master Nat Allie even nodded her head and afforded a slight smile upon hearing they were at the Academy helping. Soon though, they got down to business.

“We’ve been in correspondence with some of the NRI pilots responsible for the Outer Rim planets.”

A Nautolan Master began, shifting everyone’s attention to a Holocron in the middle of the room as the windows darkened around them. It was no revelation that the NRI had a wider capacity to monitor the state of affairs in the further sectors, but not necessarily the resources or training to actually fix a lot of the problems that may arise – hence, their partnership with the New Jedi Order.

“Recently, they’ve received an alarming number of reports from Arkanis about the economical and political climate there. Apparently, there is unrest in all but one of its major cities, several head figures in charge of their trade deals have either gone missing or been found murdered. Local authorities have yet to locate anything of substance.”

Scott raised his eyebrows as the holocron showed news footage from Arkanis’ main island hub, recounting several occurrences. He had no doubt that Derek was doing the same. Deat’on terminated the hologram and motioned to bring the window shades back up.

“We want you to lead a small envoy and try to figure out who or what is the cause of the unrest. Try to negotiate a peaceful solution. If that is not an option, well…then may the Force be with you.”

 _“_ _And also with you._ _”_

The two knights replied, bowing in respect to the council before heading back down to the Temple’s base level. Scott remembered a little about Arkanis and its perpetually gloomy weather, but he wanted to ensure he was caught up on their politics, customs and history before they set out. Derek agreed that he would take care of provisioning the trip if Scott gathered all of the necessary intel. By the time the pair boarded the freighter they, newly anointed knight Vernon Boyd, and a small squad of Republic guards were equipped with more than enough material to be prepared for whatever they found on Arkanis.

The first thing to expect was, of course, the rain.

Scott had the hood of his water-proofed cloak up before the ship’s crew even opened the bay doors. A glance through the misty downpour told him that Derek and Boyd had thought similarly. The Jedi made sure to thank their captain for bringing them safely to their destination, then left the crew unloading their haul and set off through Scarparus Port. One side of the rocky crevice had been fitted to accommodate off-world shipping whereas the opposite side focused on sending and receiving local shuttles. It was there that the Jedi would find their welcome party aboard a ferry to the largest conglomerate of Arkanis’ population.

Within a few days of meetings, holoconferences, recon work and hours spent pouring over autopsies and crime reports, Scott was sure of a few things. The first was that the current trade agreements between Arkanis’ local fishermen, farmers and export societies and the imports supposedly overseen by the New Republic hung in the balance of this strange conflict. The second was that this most certainly was a _strange_ conflict. None of the Centrist representatives or Arkanisian senators could think of a reason for all of the violence – if they were even aware of it. Clearly, there was some outside, force acting here.

And the third thing Jedi Knight Scott McCall was absolutely sure of was that he vowed to never again curse Coruscant’s perpetually sunny weather.

Derek felt the same.

“I’m going to head down to the lower docks today, see if I can dig any information out of the locals. Someone had to have seen _something_.”

Derek informed him, jolting Scott out of a research-induced haze. Thankfully, the shifter didn’t comment on how he’d practically been drooling on his holocron. The younger knight nodded.

“I’ll take Boyd into the city proper, see if we can glean anything that way. I have a meeting with Chairman Deucalion and Kali at seven, so it’s better if I stay in the city.”

Derek nodded.

“It will be better if you stay together for the meeting as well. They might not care if one of us is absent, but two missing Jedi would raise suspicions and the last thing we need is for people to start turning on us too.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Boyd’s deep voice agreed, alerting the other two to his arrival in the main room of their temporary quarters. It always amused Scott how someone so large and grounded as Boyd walked as though he were no heavier than a feather. Derek too, had that stealthy grace about him, though Scott knew that was more of a predatory advantage of his species.

With a sigh, Scott exited out of the temp archive on his holocron and stood to stretch out his back and limbs. He stopped short upon actually getting a good look at Derek, or more specifically, what Derek was _wearing_.

“You’re going to the docks in that?”

He asked, only half trying to mask his confusion. Derek just shrugged and continued stirring his ration powder until it puffed up into a dense roll.

“We’re agents of peace, but not many common people in the Outer Rim Territories know that – especially not on planets like this that were under the Empire’s thumb for generations. I’m already an outsider, I don’t need to be an outsider in an impractical robe who people may or may not already have preconceived notions about.”

Scott wasted a moment taking in Derek’s outfit before responding with a thoughtful “Huh.” Normally, the wolf-shifter was clad in the darkest robes the temple had to offer. Choosing the simplicity of black was rooted both in the mourning of his lost family members and in the practicality of a color that rarely showed stains and matched literally anything. Now, however, he wore the stiff, fitted pants of a pilot, along with a sturdy, but soft looking shirt with buttons partially down the front under a structured black leather jacket. Luckily, it was only a drizzle today, otherwise he’d have to wear his cloak anyway and ruin the point.

“You might try shifting partially too.” Boyd suggested. “It will help you fit in if you plan on heading to the more rugged parts of the city. Locals don’t typically trust attractive men with no visible scaring. The wolf will help you fit in.”

Derek nodded again at the suggestion, clearly taking it into consideration. Scott could tell he was pleased that Boyd was as intelligent as he appeared strong, even if Derek had trouble showing emotions on his face. Luckily, Scott had no such reservation and allowed a smile to dance across his face. Despite being dead tired the past few hours, he felt rejuvenated by the short conversation and his fellow knights’ continued determination to get to the bottom of this whole situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un beta-ed  
> Forwarning, chapters are divided by POV's and thus may not be consistent in length.


	2. The Apprentice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: This is where the dubcon comes in. If you're worried, check the notes at the end.

_Bzzzzzz–shhhtyk……bzzzzzzz–shhhtyk……bzzzzzzz–shhhhtyk……bzzzzzz –_

_Kkssshjkt!_

The young man held stock still, his eyes never leaving the red light in front of him – not even at the sudden appearance of a second beam. His posture mimicked that of someone relaxed, toying with his saber out of boredom, but a closer look revealed otherwise. From the set of his shoulders, down his spine all the way to the tips of his toes, the young man was practically a line of solid tension – had been even _before_ his master’s blade violently intercepted his own.

“Are you quite done practicing your light signals, or would you like to give the Jedi a few more opportunities to locate our position?”

Darth Pratham had a deceptively smooth voice and attractive façade for someone of his station. Nowadays, when people thought of the Sith, they made the mistake of picturing old wizards with bloodshot eyes. Pratham was capable of producing the face of a monster, sure, but typically his charm got them farther than fear and force ever would. The young man knew better than to underestimate the calm, however. He recognized the edge underneath Pratham’s playful tone; the one that meant stopping was anything _other_ than a suggestion.

He stilled his blade.

A few moments later Pratham’s vanished as well, leaving the two of them bathed in the gloomy light of the balcony.

Around them, Arkanis’ rain had slowed to a tame morning drizzle. Pratham stood under the covered awning, but his apprentice had specifically positioned himself so that he sat just outside of its protection. He remained tense until he felt his hood slide off and instead the warmth of Pratham’s hand rubbed soothingly along his buzzed scalp. He leaned into the touch unconsciously.

“You really hate it here, don’t you?”

This time the only edge carried in his master’s words was that of faint amusement.

It was safe to reply.

The apprentice closed his eyes and focused on the patter of the rain, the gentle friction between his hair and his master’s hand.

He thought about his answer ten times over, determined it be the _right_ one.

“It’s anticlimactic.”

Pratham let out a laugh at that. Loud and clear, far purer of a sound than the cackle he gave most times. The Sith pulled his apprentice up from the ground, tugging him out of the drizzle and to his side.

“Starting a war tends to be, unfortunately. Make the conflict too obvious and people won’t even agree to fight. You have to be _convincing_.”

The young man let out a huff, his face still taut with forced neutrality. Speaking his mind at home was one thing, but here - off world, his Master made the decisions. Pratham sighed magnanimously. He slipped his hand up to cup the back of his apprentice’s neck and to guide him towards their suite.

“Come now. I can’t have you slashing up our guests or our rooms, but that tension has to be worked out of you. We’ve a meeting with Deucalion’s advisors in a few hours and I need you relaxed. We can’t have it leaking out all over the place and ruining the discussion.”

They stepped inside and Pratham paused to seal the bedroom off entirely to the outside world, the windows dimming even further in the gloomy morning light. He brought his apprentice close again, all but exchanging their breaths. His hands wandered down from the man’s shoulders, taking the wet cloak and part of his tunic with them.

“Besides, it’s not good for you to be sitting out in the rain. We wouldn’t want you to get sick before the fun begins, would we?”

Brown eyes flicked up to meet Pratham’s before dropping back down, faltering slightly on the lips right in front of him before focusing almost defiantly on the back wall. It wasn’t that he objected to his Master’s short-term solution, but the delicacy of negotiations and assassinations that _had_ to look like accidents frustrated him. He was bored, tired of politicians and tired of playing nice. They had the power to coerce and control these people, so why jump through so many damn hoops?

Before he could think about it too long, however, those lips he’d stared at were pressing insistently against his own. He opened for them easily, responding to the stimulation but allowing his master to set the pace, to take whatever he wanted. There were times back home where he might have turned it into a struggle, but here it was not about fighting for dominance. As much as he wanted to hurry things along, he had to trust Pratham’s judgment that making a scene would only harm him in the end – both now and with the Arkanisians.

He relaxed infinitesimally, allowing the older man to tilt his head and expose his neck and jaw. The apprentice attempted to catch his breath as Pratham moved on from his mouth to blaze a trail along the path of exposed skin towards his clavicle. Pratham’s ministrations finally made him slump back into the windows. Their tint rippled slightly when his head thunked hard against the vibroglass, his master grinning when the bruise he’d been working into his skin caused the younger man to let out a breathless moan. He panted while Pratham worked to darken it, hands scrabbling for purchase and hips canting forward.

He was almost hard, but more importantly, he could feel that he wasn’t the only one.

His mouth watered.

“Master I – can I? ...Pe –“

“Shhh. None of that here.”

Pratham brought a finger up to his apprentice’s lips to silence him. His tunic had been pushed completely off of his shoulders at this point and Pratham had been well on his way to marking up his ribcage before he’d interrupted. He made eye contact before searching the younger man’s face. Thankfully, he found the expression there to be compelling and stepped back, allowing the apprentice to completely discard his tunic and sink to his knees with a sigh.

The young Sith reveled in the feel if Pratham’s hands coming to rest on his head once more. He nuzzled the erection tenting his Master’s robes in a partial daze. For a long moment, he mouthed at it through the cloth before finally removing it from its confines. He took just a moment to caress it in his hand before slipping almost the entire length into his mouth. From there it was a rhythm of sucking, licking, humming and circling the head with his tongue, alternating deep and shallow thrusts.

 He didn’t need to look up to know the pleasure and want filling the gaze of his master; receiving the emotions instead through their Force Bond. It allowed him to keep his own eyes closed and revel in the grounding feel, the weight in his mouth and the approval of his senior. The taste of pre-cum was bitter and salty on his tongue, but it was an unpleasantry he’d long ago learned to ignore. Besides, taste wasn’t something he particularly had to worry about once he’d sucked Pratham down to the root. He focused on the heated skin against his tongue, the slight burn of his throat stretching around the tip as it extended well and truly past his gag reflexes. Like a man starved of water, he swallowed compulsively around the shaft over and over again, licking and sucking until Pratham pulled him gently off.

“Breathe.”

He said simply, soft in a way he almost never was outside of sex. The apprentice heaved in air just as readily, leaning heavily on Pratham’s thigh with his hands clenched compulsively in the fabric there. He was disappointed he had to stop, but also knew that he would have likely disregarded his own health had he been allowed to continue. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

 Finally, when he had regained control over his breathing, he looked back up at his Master.

“You’re still hard.”

He hadn’t meant for it to sound like so much of a plea, but the roughness of his voice from deepthroating couldn’t be controlled. Pratham smiled briefly and rubbed a hand down the back of his neck, ignoring the shiver it elicited in his apprentice.

“And you’re still tense.” He used his arms to guide the younger man back up to standing. “Why don’t we fix that?”

He barely had to nod before Pratham was pulling him over to the bed. Though their movements were methodical, the pair made short work of divesting each other of their remaining garments. Preparation and foreplay too, were shortened by the use of lubricants that they didn’t have the luxury of possessing on their home world. It wasn’t too long at all until all the apprentice could focus on was the slick heat of Pratham sliding into him. After that, however, his Master drew things out so it felt like an eternity before his eyes rolled back into his head and he forgot completely why he’d been frustrated in the first place.

Typically, Master Pratham liked to laze around in bed after sex like this (as opposed to when they were angry or fucking to prove a point), but today they had a schedule to keep and it wasn’t long before he was pushing them off toward the private bath. The apprentice allowed himself to be manhandled, pretending he was sleepier than in reality just for an excuse to savor the feeling of someone else’s hands rubbing soap through his hair and across his loose muscles. Eventually though, the Master stepped out, leaving him finish on his own.

He knew the two Arkanisian trade advisors would be meeting them soon, but he stood under the scalding water for a few minutes longer. He let the burn of it help him focus. The Master was right, of course. They needed things to work out a specific way here in order to contend with the New Republic and it’s Jedi allies. Patience was not something he was used to exercising on their harsh homeworld, but if that was the burden he’d have to bear in order for things to go their way, then he’d do so with his head held high – not with the moody sulking of an untrained child.

He was just toweling off when he heard the advisors knocking at the door to their quarters. Pratham, of course, was already out playing the gracious host, inviting them in and offering food and drink. The apprentice listened through the door and hastened slightly. His Master had left a pair of pants and a belt folded on the counter for him. He presumed the lack of shirt and boots were purposeful - so that he’d have to walk through to the parlor area in order to retrieve them from his room. His suspicions were confirmed when he exited the bath and felt two pairs of eyes track his movements, silent as they were, across the room.

When he returned, now clad in the additional simple grey shirt and a worn pair of boots, Master Pratham introduced him formally to the two advisors – Kali and Ennis. He offered a short bow out of respect, but said nothing. The pair responded in kind. Throughout the entire conference, he felt the eyes of the larger of the two, the male; slide over to his chest as if trying to reveal all of the darkened marks Pratham had left. Currently, his shirt covered them all, but he could sense the desire even if the man was careful with his glances.

It came to no surprise to either Master or apprentice then, when at the end of the meeting; Kali was more than in agreement with their terms while Ennis claimed he still wasn’t sure they wanted the same things.

“I could be persuaded...” He stipulated; his glance over at the younger Sith neither subtle nor chaste. The apprentice resisted the urge to roll his eyes and instead made an effort to appear neutral as the advisor continued talking.

“But I need to be sure you’ll keep up your end of the deal.”

Pratham nodded consideringly.

“Well, there might not be anything more I can say to assure you. So why don’t Advisor Kali and I take a walk to see those vendors you were talking about and I’ll leave you with Nogi’Tsune to see if he can persuade you as to our investment potential. He is much better at finding new angles than myself.”

The Sith Master offered his arm to the lady and she took it with a knowing and amused smile, leaving her hulking companion with the apprentice. Ennis turned to him directly and the younger man could feel that though the advisor was lusting heavily, he was unsure how his advances would be received by a Sith who had, up until that point, been completely stoic and silent.

The apprentice allowed his mouth to twist up into a grin for the first time that day. This sort of persuasion was easy. It wasn’t the direct approach to galactic domination, but it was progress. Besides, no one ever said he had to just lie there and take it. Beings who thought with their genitals typically didn’t need much to change their minds and he was more than adept at giving it to them. He returned Ennis’s leer with a fire in his eyes, advancing on the larger man as the door shut behind his Master and Kali.

“Are you coming?”

He taunted, pressing briefly up against the Arkanisian before redirecting his course towards his personal room. Nogi’Tsune smirked self-satisfactorily as he heard the scrambling of a man in far over his head trying to walk and undress simultaneously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All sex acts are consensual at the time, however, the sexual relationship is definitely the result of a power imbalance and other meddling forces that will be explored later on.


	3. Scott II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Scott hates politics, Derek gathers information and dead people cause them lots of problems.

By the time they finished meeting with Chairman Deucalion and his counsel, Scott felt stretched thin. The Arkanisian seemed like a reasonable man, but every time the Jedi tried to come to an agreement, one of his advisors would bring up contradictory points. Kali and Ennis had been particularly troublesome to that effect. The level to which they seemed bent on ruining the trade deals worried Scott a great deal.

  
He opened a com-link with Derek even before he and Boyd had completely exited the administrative building.

“I take it things didn’t go well in your meeting?”

Came Derek’s gruff, but amused prompt. Scott resisted the urge to allow his frustration to boil over, an endeavor he was probably failing if Derek could already sense it.

“No, it did not. I think Deucalion is willing to work with us, but his advisory team keeps causing problems.”

“Ennis and Kali.”

Boyd added, sending a hologram and their files to the older Jedi.

“They must have some sort of insider information, to be able to counter us at every turn like that. No on-worlder from an Outer-Rim planet could know that much about the New Republic and its possible shortcomings – not like they did.”

Derek hummed his agreement as he glanced at the files. Scott could tell he was still walking outside as the sound of rain cut through the silence of the communicator.

“I’m headed back to the rooms, I might have something.”

Scott nodded, even though Derek couldn’t see him.

“We’ll meet you there.”

And with that, the Jedi closed the communications link and pulled the hood of his robe up. Boyd did likewise next to him and Scott forced himself to take a long, calming breath before the doors opened and they jogged the short distance in the rain to their ferry.

The first thing Scott did upon returning to their temporary quarters was search for listening or recording devices. It was one thing to trust that leaders would make good on their promises and negotiate, but another completely to think that their hosts would be fair about it. Like Derek had said earlier, the Jedi were technically a symbol of peace, but that didn’t mean people accepted them or their help with open arms. He was stopped just a few seconds into his task, however, by a firm hand on his shoulder.

“I already swept.”

Derek said plainly, dumping three crushed transmitters into Scott’s palm. He smiled ruefully and pat Derek’s shoulder in return, throwing the transmitters out onto their balcony where the rain would render them completely useless if being crushed hadn’t already.

“You must have been closer than we thought. I assumed we’d be the first ones back.”

Derek shrugged and sat down, placing his holocron on the table and pulling up a video while the two darker skinned knights shed their outer layers.

“I was already on my way back. One of the cargo haulers gave me this. It’s security footage of the loading docks from earlier this morning.”

On the screen, Advisor Kali wove through crates, pointing out various things to a hooded figure. Even before the man lowered his hood and turned to face them for a closer inspection of something, Scott felt a tingling at the base of his neck.

“Is that –?”

Derek stopped the recording and wound it back, pausing it on the moment the hooded figure’s face was clear. He zoomed in, and even slightly pixelated, the likeness is clear.

“Peter.”

“As in, Master Peter Hale. Uncle Peter who died in a fire on Mustafar?”

Boyd questioned, not unkindly, but still a little incredulous.

Derek grit his teeth as he replied.

“Apparently not as dead as he would like everyone to believe.”

Scott floundered for a moment, still caught up in staring at the image floating before them. Boyd, blessedly, had no such problem.

“I’ll alert the Temple.”

His words brought Scott back into action, though Derek continued to stare gravely at the paused video.

“I’m going to speak with the Guard squad, make sure that Deucalion is safe. Derek, can you comb through Ennis and Kali’s files again? Clearly, they’ve been speaking with Peter for a while. It’s the only sensible way they’d have the kind of detailed information they presented today. We have to make sure we can catch Peter before they realize we know he’s here.”

Three hours later and the three Jedi faced a grinning Peter in Arkanis’ largest cargo bay. The fallen Force user neither looked nor felt afraid of them as he made a welcoming gesture with one arm and kept the other firmly clasped across the back of Deucalion’s neck.

“Ah gentlemen! As much as I love to see your shining faces, all grown up, I wasn’t planning a get together for quite some time. So, you’ll understand why we really must be going.”

“Peter! Why are you doing this?”

Scott yelled; torn between inching closer and ensuring that Peter’s grip didn’t tighten any further on Deucalion’s neck. He could tell the politician was already in a great deal of discomfort, if not pain.

Peter tutted at him like he did when they were children.

“My dear boy, I would have thought you’d figured it out by now. I certainly left you enough clues. I wonder how many others have left the Temple, finding them in your stead.”

Derek let out a growl, his eyes burning electric blue.

“Enough! No more games Peter. Let Deucalion go.”

“Actually.” Peter grinned even wider, shoving the politician up the ramp and into his ship. “I don’t think I will. And haven’t you heard, Nephew? It’s Darth Pratham now.” And then his own eyes glowed, but instead of matching Derek’s blues, they burned a hateful red, and his roar shook the air around them.

Scott stood dumbfounded for a moment at the surprise, but sprang into action at the sound of blasters behind them. At the entrance, Kali and Ennis were leading troopers in a diversionary assault. Derek ignored them and sprang straight for his uncle, letting out his own roar and half shifting his Lycan features to match. His saber lit up and he turned to face the troopers again, but Boyd had already moved into action, hailing their own squad to help with the skirmish.

“Get the Chairman to safety!”

He yelled, nodding at Scott in confirmation that he had the situation handled. Scott returned the gesture and turned to run back towards the shuttle, dodging blaster fire and Derek and Peter’s duel.  
He stopped short, however, when a familiar beam of red light shot out in his path. Just meters away from the ship and Scott looked away from his target, following the length of the blade back to its owner. He had the body of someone younger than Peter. His shoulders were broad, but his waist narrow. His face was shrouded by a double-layered hood, but his stance and saber grip were solid. He didn’t have to speak to let Scott know that he wouldn’t be letting the Jedi onto the ship without a fight.

“I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Scott said in reply to the silent challenge, moving into his own fighting stance. He didn’t want to have to kill anyone, let alone someone who seemed to be his own age, but preventing the spread of the Dark Side and protecting Deucalion were his priorities. The cloaked figure merely tilted their head in acknowledgement.

And then they were launching at each other. Scott’s style had always been more acrobatic and adaptive. His opponent, however, was a relentless force. Scott had heard of old Sith masters using the force to directly power their movements, but to see it in action was a different thing altogether. He quickly learned that he would have to be smarter, rather than stronger or more enduring if he wanted to win this fight. Everywhere he went, however, the red blade was there to counter.

After exhausting every technique he could think of to try and get behind the Sith’s guard, Scott gave up on that method. He instead centered his breathing and his mind, focusing on feeling the Force and allowing it to guide his movements. He could feel the intense anger driving his opponent and the strength it lent his movements. That meant he could also sense their erratic tendencies. The young Sith wasn’t even trying to conserve his energy, hitting hard even where he didn’t need to; and that was where Scott could find his victory.

He feigned one side and then dove towards the other, trying to get underneath of his opponent’s blade. The Sith was already there and prepared for the undercut, however, knocking Scott back towards a shipping crate. He stumbled, extinguishing his blade and attempting to gain footing even as his attacker bore down on him. At the last second, he dropped down, kicking the Sith’s foot out from underneath him and sending his blade straight into the crate of Aerogel.

The moment the gel touched the atmosphere, it began expanding rapidly, bubbling out into a foam that quickly cooled and hardened. Scott rolled away before it could cling to him, but the Sith was not quite so lucky. He’d managed to get his saber free, but in the meantime, the foam stuck to his dominant hand, keeping him trapped there while the rest of the gel leaked out around him. Satisfied with his at least temporary prison, Scott ran for the shuttle.

Despite its two main passengers remaining outside of the ship, its captain was quickly starting the engine up and preparing for lift off. Scott forced his way into the hold, using the force to throw the two guards back into the ship and hopefully daze them long enough to pull the unconscious Deucalion back out to safety. He had to dodge blaster fire and the Sith he’d trapped was well on his way to cutting himself free from the Aerogel, but he managed to get the passed-out Chairmen back behind their own squad.

“I’ve got this.” Boyd acknowledged, nodding both to the Chairmen and the few remaining soldiers shooting at them from across the bay, Kali and Ennis shouting them on. “Go help Hale.”

Scott didn’t have to think which Hale Boyd meant as he turned to spy the two duelists. Both Lycans had practically shifted all the way, their faces turning lupine and equally as dangerous as their blades. Peter, however, had taken on a form much larger and more monstrous than Derek’s. His skin had taken on an almost blue-grey and where the ridges in Derek’s brow were pronounced, Peter’s looked like they were trying to bulge out of his skin, his eyes glowing a demonic red.

He currently had Derek suspended in the air, one clawed hand deep inside his torso rather than utilizing the Force.

Scott couldn’t hear the gurgles of Derek choking on his own blood, or whatever lies Peter was whispering in his ear over the continued sound of gunfire. He did know, however, that the sooner he got that hand out of Derek’s chest, the more likely it was the Lycan would heal enough to survive the encounter. Scott didn’t think he could physically make it to them in time to help, but he mustered up as strong of a Force Push as he could and sent it slamming into Peter ahead of him.

The Sith hardly stumbled a few steps, but he did drop Derek, so Scott wasn’t too dismayed when he crashed into the monster of a man himself. Despite having his blade extinguished for his encounter with his nephew, Peter’s blade was fired up and ready to parry Scott’s. The sound of the two sabers crashing together was somehow centering and Scott allowed himself to slip into the flow of the Force again, knowing he wouldn’t be able to hold the former Master off otherwise.

Where his apprentice had been uncontrollable rage and fire, Peter wielded the Dark Side like a precision instrument. He channeled his cold fury, but also his amusement, his cunning, his desire into each of his movements, not just working within the Force or using it to power his movements. In the Temple they had once been taught to think of the Force as music, and themselves as dancers. If he followed that analogy now though, then Scott was forced to admit that Peter was more akin to a conductor.

It was all he could do to hold his own.

Thankfully, Boyd seemed to have the local forces under control and was soon firing at the monstrous Peter with a borrowed blaster. As terrifying as it was to now have to avoid the Sith’s blade and gunfire, Scott remained centered in the Force and in the belief that Boyd was doing the same each time he lined a shot up. Finally, under the duress of a two-fold attack, Peter succumbed. A beam shot to the shoulder and a slice to his calves had him stumbling down to the ground.  
Before they could celebrate a victory, or even attempt to formally wrap the situation up and contain Peter, however, the hangar shook. Scott looked up just in time to dodge a shipping container being thrown at him. Apparently, the apprentice had freed himself and, in a fit of devotion Scott found odd for a Sith, was all but tearing up the hangar in an attempt to distract the Jedi and get them away from his Master.

The younger man’s hood had fallen, his robe discarded somewhere, but Scott was unable to get a clear view of his face until he’d already retrieved Peter’s limp form. The Jedi stared up at this new enemy as he hauled the Sith back to their waiting ship and then turned to look angrily back down at them.

Scott froze.

Because even though he was using the Force to tear up the hangar around them and blow up several of the remaining ships, that was undoubtedly the face of his lost best friend glaring down at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The violence ratchets up from here on out.


	4. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life at the Temple goes on as Derek and Scott come to terms with the reappearance of their lost brethren.

The trip home was nothing but miserable for the Jedi.

Once reinforcements arrived, they were able to get the situation on Arkanis under some semblance of control. Deucalion had been hailed as a man of vision and promised to lead the trade deals as they should be – without interference. Things between the affluent world and the New Republic were quickly patched up after the arrests of both Kali and Ennis, and the Jedi Council assured them people and supplies en-route to help rebuild the hangar.

Derek, however, spent the duration of their stay in an intensive care unit. Normally, his Lycan physiology would have allowed him to heal the gashes from his uncle in a matter of hours even without medical help. As he explained upon regaining consciousness, however, their kind are usually led by Alphas, who cause more lasting injuries on betas like himself.

“Laura was our Alpha.” He’d said. He then explained how the only ways to become an alpha was to kill one yourself, or be next in line if an alpha died of non-Lycan causes. Scott thought Derek seemed equally dejected and bitter when he muttered. “I guess I don’t have to wonder how she died anymore.” But left the older man to resolve his turmoil without comment. Mostly, the pair spent the trip home wondering how they were going to move on knowing that Peter had killed Laura and seemingly turned Stiles to the Dark Side. Any peace they had gained in mourning their siblings of blood and choice the first time felt shattered and fragile.

Boyd, thankfully, was there to provide a steady point of reference. He had not known Laura or Stiles well, but understood the feeling of losing a family member. He did not push the other two knights, but neither did he allow them to wallow or become consumed by emotion.

The New Jedi Order was thankfully not as strict about purging emotions, attachments and connections with family as the original had been. The typical teaching was not that emotions were evil, but rather that they could not be the basis on which a person built their worldview or their decisions. The Jedi were taught to _control_ their emotions, rather than allow their emotions to control _them_. There was nothing wrong with loving, so long as it did not push out logic and reasoning – there was nothing wrong with mourning so long as it did not prevent them from moving forward.

So, upon returning to the Temple, they mourned.

Scott spent most of his time meditating, helping out at the Academy and pouring through all of the reports on the attack on Laura and Stiles’ ship at Geonosis. He trusted that the Masters had done their best to seek out answers about the tragedy, but it gave him a sense of closure to read it all for himself as a knight of equal standing. As odd as it sounded, it was freeing to know that there was nothing he or anyone else could have done to prevent Peter from murdering Laura and turning Stiles to the Dark Side. This irreversibility of Fate made Scott hopeful that there could also be a return to the Light.

Derek, he knew, was not quite so optimistic.

When the older knight returned to the Temple, he took to spending long hours working his frustration out in the private practice rooms, only emerging once he’d found his center once more – often disappearing for hours on end. The time he didn’t spend training physically, Derek devoted to research, trying to find where his uncle might have been hiding all these years – where he might be _now_.

Though the Jedi was never so crass as to come out and say it to Scott’s face, he knew Derek mostly wanted to find the pair for the purpose of ending their lives. At the very least, it was clear that he didn’t think his uncle held any possibilities for redemption. And if Stiles continued to get in the way, like he had on Arkanis, then perhaps he should not be spared either.

It was an approach that worried Scott, and he brought it to the council. They assured him that they too were watching Knight Hale closely, but thankfully did not detect any Dark leanings in his intentions. They also promised that if an impartial team could not be sent the next time Pratham or his apprentice showed up, then they would send either Scott or Boyd along with Derek as a safeguard.

Scott was not left with long to ponder _why_ he, Derek and Boyd would be more readily available than literally any other Jedi at any given time, as this was also the meeting that the Council suggested he take on a padawan of his own. He came to find out at first dinner call that the same had been recommended to Derek. They agreed that it felt rather sudden, with the Trials in just five days’ time.

“I’m not sure why they think I’m in a good place to take someone on.”

Derek sighed, looking resignedly into his potatoes. Scott shrugged, and on his other side, Boyd reacted similarly.

“You, at least, are centered and calm, even if the discovery of your friend’s apparent life has shaken you.” Derek continued. “I search for Peter out of loyalty to Laura’s legacy, but how do I differentiate that from revenge to an Initiate? I don’t want them to be drawn into this and get confused about the motivation.”

Scott nodded consideringly, a mouth full of bread preventing him from answering. Though this was probably for the better.

 Boyd hummed thoughtfully and then pointed out a fairly logical answer.

“Perhaps it is for that very reason, they think you are ready? You understand emotional struggles in a very different way than most of the current masters, both because of your ethnic heritage and your personal experiences. Besides,” He added lightly, “Helping another may give you something to do other than brood in the archives all day.”

Scott suppressed a laugh at the stoic knight’s final quip. Though the Lycan was currently glaring at their friend, he could tell that Derek’s aura had also been lightened by it. The remainder of their meal was passed in companionable conversation. Scott relished in the familiarity and had to smile when he recalled a time where he could not wait to leave it behind.

He could not help but wonder, that night as he lay on his cot, if Stiles ever felt that same nostalgia – even on his much darker path.

Two weeks saw each of them, along with Lydia and a few other Knights standing alongside their chosen Initiates before the Grand Council. They each received the Council’s blessing in turn and became Master and Padawan. Once again, Scott was struck by the nostalgia of it all, remembering vividly his own rise from youngling to apprentice. It hurt that Stiles was not also here, especially knowing that he was out there _somewhere_ , but Scott did not let that dampen his pride in Isaac for rising to the challenge.

In many ways, Isaac, his friend Eri’Ca and Boyd reminded him of himself, Stiles and Derek. The trio had a similar age range and Scott often caught himself thinking that the Stiles he knew would have loved Eri’Ca. She certainly gave Derek a run for his money, her confidence having been bolstered by finally passing the Trials.

Isaac, though inherently sweet and wanting to learn everything he could from his Master, could also be quite the imp. Half of the time, when they were at the Temple, it felt like Scott and Derek were either running after their Padawans or attempting to keep them separate for long enough to stay out of trouble. Isaac took training seriously, which was a blessing for Scott, but there were times when they were off-world or not doing a set task that he’d want to test and try every method available, regardless of practicality. He had good intentions though, and was loyal to the Order and his teachers.

If Isaac was an Imp, then Eri’Ca was a spitfire. The yellow-tan Twi’Lek was a bombshell and full of sass. Scott knew that Masters often learned things themselves from having an apprentice, but there were times when he observed Derek and Eri’Ca and thought the Padawan could just as easily be the teacher.

The blonde was adamant about her studies (though admittedly more interested in sparring than meditation) and seemed to have a firm grasp on the importance of her actions outside of the Temple, but she was constantly pushing Derek. She questioned his orders, not out of subversion, but to truly understand the _reasoning_ behind them. This meant that Derek had to be ready with background for pretty much everything he told her and, better yet, had to be able to communicate his point clearly and without frustration.

It made Scott smile when he thought about how far the other Master had come from the nearly monosyllabic Initiate he and Stiles had grown up around. He thought of Laura and Stiles constantly chiding him for being so silent and broody all the time. And though it pained him as of late to remember them, Scott thought they’d be proud of Derek’s progression and continuing maturity.

Just over a year was spent in relative peace. Scott trained Isaac, mostly going on peaceful missions in the Colonies and Inner Rim and teaching him diplomacy. That wasn’t to say that they never faced conflict, but there were no more signs of the Sith, no large-scale encounters. They heard, of course, of civil wars and other such things from various Master-Padawan pairs each time they returned to the Temple. Usually, however, those were handled by groups of Knights or apprenticeships that were further along. Lydia and her Padawan Allison, who was very nearly a knight herself, were often among these groups, but kept good company when they were in Coruscant.

They saw Derek, Eri’Ca and Boyd a few times in passing as well. Scott was pleased to see that Derek smiled more and Boyd was progressing on as an admirable Knight. Most of their run-ins occurred at the Temple and lasted no longer than a day or a meal spent together, but the familiarity was welcome in a life mostly spent off-world. Scott thought it was especially refreshing for Isaac, to see that despite their constantly changing tasks, there was still stability in the life of a Jedi. He knew, both from their conversations and the Padawan’s mannerisms that his homeworld didn’t offer much stability.

It was during one of these brief stays at the Temple that both Scott and Derek were called up to the Council chambers. They rode the elevator up together in general silence, their only real exchange consisting of questioning glances and unknowing shrugs. Scott found it both odd and nostalgic to be alone with Derek – sans their padawans. As the elevator neared the top, however, he felt a growing tension in the pit of his stomach. He looked at Derek just as the doors opened and found that a similar look of realization had crossed his face.

There was only one thing that the Council could have wanted to speak to them about.

Scott took a centering breath and followed Derek out, trusting the Force to lead them in the right direction.


	5. Scott III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sith cause more mayhem, leaving the Jedi to deal with the carnage in their wake.

“As you know, the Galactic Alliance has been monitoring the constant activity of the Hutt clans and other crime syndicates who have chosen to make Felucia their base of operation in the past. Until now, their activities have mostly been small scale smuggling or other things that the Alliance had the capability to deal with.”

“Assuming, of course, their politicians cared enough.”

Master Stilin Ski interrupted wryly. Dea’ton tilted his head in acknowledgement. It was no news that those who ran the Republic, even if well-intentioned, were wont to succumb to greed or allow certain injustices to prevail in the name of some ‘greater good’ or preventing all-out war – especially in the Outer Rim.

“Yes, well, _now_ the Syndicates have elevated to mass murder, and no leader can overlook that in the name of petty politics.”

As the Council continued, the windows dimmed slightly and holographic images from the reconnaissance team on Felucia played before them. Scott felt his eyes widen and his heart sink. Any loss of life was tragic, but in such great quantities as that? He would never understand the type of greed and hatred orchestrating a massacre required.

“Entire herdships were culled - apparently after the Ithorians refused to allow the Syndicates to further colonize and deforest the planet surface in order to expand the cities and their cargo holdings.”

“While that in itself is tragic and unacceptable.” Stilin Ski continued. “We are more acutely concerned with the evidence that turned up on the herdships themselves.”

He gestured to the images playing between them.

“As you can see, many of the dead appear to have not only been shot down, but also slashed or hacked apart. The on-site analysts have confirmed that some of the wounds were typical of what one might expect to see from a legion of bounty hunters, but that there were also large swaths of bodies that had markings exclusive to a lightsaber attack.”

“There were also several clusters of Ithorians who seemed to have died of suffocation, with no signs of external pressure or toxins. Considering the race is anatomically blessed with four throats, it would be _highly_ illogical to assume this was done by chance.”

Master Nat Allie added.

“It was a Force user.”

She nodded solemnly at Derek’s conclusion.

“The Council has decided, given the trouble they caused the last time, we would prefer if the two of you and your Padawans coordinated on resolving the conflict.”

“If you need more immediate help, Master Lydia Martin and her Padawan Allison are currently stationed on Yavin’s third moon to facilitate peace negotiations among the Ar’gent. We have already alerted them to your mission and given it priority over their own.”

Scott nodded at Deaton, though it did not help his stomach settle to think that even the Council was prepared to send them extra help. He knew it was a reflection of the situation, not his, Derek’s, or their Padawan’s abilities, but that made him no more comfortable. The Council Members were all equally as solemn.

“There is a transport waiting for you in Bay 6. Let Captain Mahealani know when you are ready to depart and may the Force be with you.”

_“_ _And also with you._ _”_

Scott and Derek replied in unison, bowing respectfully before turning to leave. The traditional parting phrase was always seen as something reverent and hopeful. Now, however, Scott felt as though the Council was uttering it as a plea to the Fates.

“So that meeting wasn’t exactly…optimistic.”

He said hesitantly. The pair was once again alone in the elevator, headed downward.

Derek let out a huff, sounding half amused, half resigned.

“No, it was not.”

Neither pair tried to argue that perhaps they were setting themselves up for failure, but instead began figuring out the logistics of their departure. Before they went their separate ways, to collect Padawans, provisions, etc. Scott felt Derek’s consciousness reach out reassuringly towards his own. The weeks that followed would be hard, but that didn’t mean they had to be a source of misery.

For the first time that afternoon, he allowed himself to smile.

Felucia was an odd planet. It’s flora and fauna all seemed equally beautiful and volatile and carried strong Force energies. As an Initiate, Scott remembered learning about its shimmering life-forms and their translucent, rubber-like qualities. He also remembered that the world itself was humid and prone to dislike outsiders – and that was without even considering the bounty hunter and smuggling clans that had taken up root on the surface.

Though the planet was mostly inhabited by Ithorians, reclusive natives, smugglers and crime syndicates, the Galactic Alliance and Commerce Guild still had strong standings in Felcucia’s main city of Kway Teow. It also helped that this was where the majority of public landing pads were located.

Upon recommendation, Scott and the two apprentices wore low-grade air filters and protective goggles when they first stepped out into the planet’s fetid atmosphere. It wasn’t necessarily dangerous to them, but it was smarter to allow their bodies time to adjust. Derek’s Lycan healing allowed him to acclimate much quicker – though with a small degree of discomfort, so he decided to forgo the protection.

After first meeting with the Alliance teams in charge of the Ithorian Situation, the Jedi agreed that they would like to spend time examining the massacred ships and the apparent Sith victims in person. The Investigation Unit did and admirable job, but if they were truly hunting Siths, then there were clues that non-Force-Sensitives would have missed.

Walking through the halls of the massive floating ships, now devoid of life, was a haunting experience on its own, but the echoes of so many deaths sent a shiver up Scott’s spine. He had warned Isaac that it would not be a pleasant experience, but the Padawan was insistent on coming. Now, he looked a little green in the face, his brows knit together, but he stubbornly kept up.

“Remember that these are only Force memories, _impressions._ ” Scott reemphasized gently. “If it starts becoming too much, you can pull yourself back by focusing on the present. Anchor yourself to the things you feel and see _now_ so you don’t get lost in the past.”

The Padawan nodded, closing his eyes for a few moments before moving on, his hands gently brushing the sides of the hallway. He flinched when his hand came in contact with a stretch of metal undoubtedly scored by a lightsaber, but Scott did not feel any further distress in his aura. He left the boy to periphery and focused on the air around them, forcing himself to search deeper without the ties of a physical object.

It was disturbing the amount of emotion that saturated the area. Even though the ships continued to circulate air, it was thick with fear, desperation and an overwhelming anger. Recognizing that particular brand of fury, Scott let out a sigh. He allowed the Force memories to slip back into the past where they belonged and moved to catch up with Isaac.

He found the Padawan leaning forward on a bisected plant nursery table, his head down and his aura heavy. Sensing his confusion and distress, Scott approached gently, setting a hand down on the young man’s shoulder. Isaac didn’t seem to currently be stuck in the feedback of the Force memories, but clearly something he’d learned from them was bothering him. Scott tried to be patient and let the Padawan work through it, but after a few minutes he sensed that perhaps he needed a little push to get started.

“You wanna talk about it?”

He asked, righting one of the overturned chairs and sitting so that he was level with Isaac’s hunched form. The apprentice shook his head for a moment then, after taking a deep breath, seemed to change his mind.

“He…He was _happy_. The Sith. I mean, there was so much anger…but he also…I think he _enjoyed_ it.” Isaac looked up at him, tears threatening to break free from his eyes. “How could anyone do that? All the Ithorians wanted was to care for their plants and he slaughtered them for _fun_!”

Despite how distraught he was, Isaac’s voice barely rose above a whisper, cracking slightly even then. Scott stood to bring the boy into his arms, both in sorrow for what he had experienced and his own distress at the thought that maybe Stiles _was_ too far gone to the Dark Side for them to redeem.

It took the pair a while to re-center themselves and continue cataloguing the ship, but eventually they were done and heading back to their temporary quarters in Kway Teow. Scott let Isaac drive, if only so he could have something to distract him, and took the time to call Derek and Eri’Ca.

“We’re heading back now.” He said once the Master picked up.

“We’ve got one more room to check here and then we’ll meet you there. Did you find anything useful?”

Scott let out a sigh, though he knew that was telling in itself.

“Yeah. It…it’s definitely them.”

Derek let out a hum and Scott knew he was nodding on the other end.

“These halls practically sing of Peter, twisted as he now seems to be.”

It was said with a certain brand of melancholy and resignation and as hard as this was going to be for Scott, he knew it was worse for Derek. Still, he had to wonder.

“Is it bad that I wish it _had_ been someone else?”

Derek took a long time answering on the other end, but when he did, he sounded sure of his words.

“I don’t believe so. You’re allowed to mourn the person he should have been – even if you have to kill the man he’s become in order to do so. Peter may be a Sith, and he may have killed my sister, but he was my favorite uncle first.”

 - - - - - - - - - -

After three long weeks of discussions with the leaders of Felucia’s many different merchant guilds and syndicates – and trying to find diverse ways of saying that while yes, they knew who the culprits were, they did not have any way to find them or bring them to justices to increasingly more frustrating dignitaries; the Jedi returned home. The picture of the planet and empty ships they had left behind weighed heavily in the minds of all four Jedi. Even Eri’Ca was somber and still, spending most of the journey meditating or studying temple holocrons instead of gallivanting around the ship or pestering the crew into teaching her how to do their jobs.

Back at the Temple, Scott made the best of the shocking event and took the opportunity to teach Isaac further how to control his emotions and presence within the Force. They made quite a lot of headway and soon even communicating across the Temple was as simple as breathing for the Padawan. He could express feeling, impressions and images alongside words. In fact, Scott was in the middle of a bout of laughter after being startled out of meditation by a joke from his apprentice when Derek poked his head into the greenhouse they’d been practicing in.

“Sorry to interrupt.” He said brusquely. Scott had to shut out Isaac’s immediate thought bubble that Derek didn’t _sound_ very sorry in order to listen to the rest of what the Lycan had to say.

“The communications team just got a transmission from an Explorer Corps ship stationed in the Corporate Sector. The consulars are working to pinpoint its origins more exactly – hoping to get us a system at least.”

Scott held his breath for half a second and could feel Isaac doing the same behind him.

“What did it say?”

“It was a riddle.” Derek said, face scrunching into a scowl. “ _Everyone has it, but no one can lose it_?”

Scott felt his own brow knit together as he tried to think of the correct answer, pulling from his years of study and intuition. He need not have worked so hard, however, as Isaac spoke the answer within moments, his voice quiet and his tone subdued.

“A shadow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise more exciting things will happen soon!


End file.
